


Blood And Frosting

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Assassination, Fluff, M/M, Murder, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: Two assassins. Two sons. One chance to work together, or wipe out the competition. One inter-tangled life constantly creating more and more inter-tangled aspects of reality between two grown men who live two lives balanced on a knifes blade. ...One romance?
Relationships: Dad Egbert/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Bucket Swap 12th Perigee 2019





	1. Strider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laurasauras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/gifts).

> Writing this was a delight, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If James had known then what he knew now, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse, but certainly not the same as it had. All that he’d known at the time was that the man he was meant to ensure was dead had been killed hours to minutes before he’d arrived to do the job himself, and that there was going to be hell to pay for it. When James Egbert set out to do a job he had his own methods, his own plans, his own cleanup plans.. and yet here he was out one job and down any clues as to who to blame for it.

At least it was a clean hit he had to admit, though the method seemed a bit strange. Who used blades in this day and age when poisons and bullets worked so well? Yet there the poor fool was, throat slit two ways to Sunday and the spray already cleaned up, the air still smelling of cleaning chemicals and the wall still slightly damp. No fingerprints, no footprints. He’d not seen anyone coming or going, had he? There’d been a blonde man, but he looked like a drunk or some kind of fellow who’d never grown out of the frat house age, hardly anyone to be concerned about. Certainly not someone who was capable of something this tidy. Besides, he’d entered the building and then left with some alcohol in hand, hadn’t he? Bottles of some kind. An errand, returning to his own home or something.

James frowned and went to the kitchen, pulling the fridge door open. A space on the bottom shelf, just big enough for a six pack of bottles, was empty. He closed the door again solidly before touching his face, thinking to himself.

Perhaps that blonde was more than just a passerby after all. ...But how? How? He’d been wearing white, there wasn’t even a speck of blood on him. And yet he’d used a blade?

When he came back home, it was early enough that John was still awake and doing his homework at the kitchen table. He looked over with bright eyes and a big grin, pushing his books away with both hands before coming over to hug his father around the waist.

“Did you do it, Dad? Did you get the hit?”

A part of him regretted letting John know about his line of work. He’d have been better off never knowing, thinking he was just some schmuck with a 9-5 desk job and an affinity for the fine arts of shaving instead of a man who knew ten ways to kill a man with a razor and even more ways to clean it up using household supplies. Knew how to make it look like an accident, or on purpose. How many ‘suicides’ had it been now? He’d lost count really. Business had been good.

James ruffled John’s hair and kissed his forehead before edging away and into the kitchen, wanting to get dinner heating up. There was a casserole all put together and waiting for him in the bottom of the fridge, just needing baked to enjoy.

“Yes I did. Sort of.”

Some of the light left John’s eyes. He looked worried, trailing after his father. “Sort of? You didn’t get caught, did you?”

“Me? John, perish the thought. I don’t get caught,” James sniffed. “Only sloppy men get caught.”

“Yeah, but-”

“He was dead when I got there,” he admitted, cranking the oven’s temperature up to 350 and setting the timer ahead a bit further than needed to account for the pre-heating he was skipping. James needed a drink. He sighed and grabbed a glass of ice before he headed to the study, loosening his tie and taking his hat off. John, once more, was hot on his heels.

“Wait, what? Already dead?” he asked, taking James’ hat and carefully putting it up. Fourteen wasn’t old enough to learn the ropes yet, not according to James and his perfectionism streak, but it was old enough to understand just how big of a problem that was. “How?”

“I’m not certain,” James said as he took out a crystal topped bottle and poured some gin in atop the ice. A bit of tonic water and a wedge of lime soon found their ways in as well, being swirled before he took a seat and a swig with another sigh. “I saw a man who seems to have been involved, but I can’t wrap my head around how he’d have managed it. He didn’t seem the type at all.”

“Well. To be fair, neither do you dad,” John said as he went to the radio and turned some music on. When James groaned he changed the station to some jazz and turned it down low, letting the smooth tones wash over them both as he tried to find the right thing to say. “What are you going to do?”

“Collect my money,” James said. “The target is dead. That’s all I needed to assure, and I verified that he was indeed dead. Job done.”

“But..”

“Don’t worry, John. This is merely a slip.. Things will be fine.”

Except things weren’t fine. They weren’t fine at all. James’ client was stalling on paying the next day, explaining that they’d already paid the man who did it.

“What in the ever loving name of Christ do you  _ mean  _ you double hired for insurance’s sake?” he asked, voice a bare hiss as he leaned over the table of his client. She leaned back in her seat unaffected, dark hair in its bun struck through with sharp instruments to keep the long strands in place, full red lips curling at the edges in the same way she’d grinned while explaining just why her ex needed to die in such a dramatic way.

“I want to be sure it would happen.. So I contacted another person at the same time,” she explained in a softly accented voice. “He was cheaper, too, and finished before you. It seems like I managed to get the best deal for ensuring this happened.”

“I was quite literally about to do the hit and found out he’d been killed,” James said. “I was at the scene. I put myself at risk to do this job for you, and you hire someone behind my back?”

“We don’t exactly have a trust filled relationship,” the woman said with a smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Demand payment for the time I could have spent doing another job,” James said with a huff. “I didn’t do this out of the goodness of my fucking heart Ms. Megido.”

“I’m not paying for a hit you didn’t do. If you wanted your money, you should have acted faster,” she shrugged.

James stared at her, hands still flat on her table and shoulders riding up high near his ears. He already knew how her throat would feel in his hands, how the struggle for air would sound, and angry as he was he was pretty sure it’d sound like music to his ears. But that wasn’t gentlemanly. Instead he stood straight ever so slowly and dusted his open palms against his hips, letting out a pent up breath ever so slowly to keep his temper in control, ice blue eyes feeling frigid as he could make them as he stared into the ruddy color of his client’s eyes. Former client’s eyes.

“Do me a favor?” he asked. “May I get some information on the man who you hired aside from myself? I don’t exactly appreciate someone moving in and elbowing into my territory under my nose.”

“Sorry, extra dirty work isn’t my job,” she said, shrugging with her hands uplifted. He felt the urge to throttle her again while she was so satisfied by the job well done, riding high on the waves of revenge and getting away with it if the police took their time as they usually did to even start looking. “But I can give you a name at least.”

“A name is a good start.”

“Strider.”

“No first name?”

“He said he’d answer to anything but jury duty or child support,” she said. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Strider. What kind of a fucking name was Strider anyway. If that blonde fuck was named Strider, then he’d surely know his first name soon enough, especially if he decided to start poking round the market more than he should. 

“Right. Well then. Thank you for your time,” he lied through his teeth, giving a bow of his head before turning on his heel and leaving her home. That would be one more address and account to blacklist. Like hell he’d be working with her again, even if her money was good. Double hirerers were a pain in the neck, and more fuss and muss than was worthwhile. Anything that complicated things wasn’t worthwhile in this business. 

Strider.

James could taste the name in his mouth like sour bile as he got back into his car and backed out of his parking space, could feel it carving itself into his skull like a migraine.

Strider.

It was a name that, when he searched for it online, brought up many things. A strange abstract comic that burnt his eyes to look at till he closed the window. A DJ. A… what was he even looking at. A ventriloquist? No, it was hard to make out given how much the screen was moving. He was pretty sure this plush filled website was going to pack his computer full of viruses by the time it was done with a simple search. Nope, couldn’t be those. James went a bit deeper searching for the name.

Strider.

A clean, minimalist website with a simple interface lurked in the dark web. An entry box like a command prompt awaited data. A password? A keycode? Something that would let him browse the site further, and yet simple searching wasn’t offering much in the way of clues. Perhaps he only told potential clients about how to access it? Or he left calling cards on other sites.

John came into his room in the evening, shy for a moment before letting the appearance drop as he let himself into his fathers space and crawled up onto the bed beside him to give him a hug.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“You’re up plenty late, John. Brushed your teeth and everything?”

“Dad, please, I’m not ten anymore.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“...I’ll do it before I lay down,” he amended. “I was gonna ask though. Is it okay if I had a friend over this weekend?”

“You? Bringing a friend over?” James asked, looking up from the empty page with its lonely command prompt box to quirk a brow. “I don’t mind but. I’d no idea you had a friend that close.”

“Well, I do now,” John said with a grin. “A friend from online recently moved here, and he wound up going to my school. I didn’t think it was him at first, till I recognized the sunglasses I gave him.”

“Glasses…?” He vaguely remembered helping John win an online auction for a very important birthday gift a few years back. That had to be the right set of sunglasses, right? How many important sets of sunglasses could there be? “Oh, oh, right. The Texan boy is up here then?” James said, relaxing against his cushions with a sigh as he stretched. “By all means, go ahead and invite him over. Just make sure it’s okay with his parents.”

“His brother doesn’t much care what Dave gets up to as long as he keeps in contact, I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” John said with a grin, hugging his father tight once more. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Of course, son. Just make sure to keep-”

“All of the family business as family business, and to put all our dishes in the dishwasher,” John finished obediently. “I know, I know.” 

“Good boy,” James said fondly. His son made him so proud.

Alone with his thoughts once more when John left his side for the evening, James clicked around various sites he was accustomed to before checking his secured email for some business. He needed to make up for the lost client. They weren’t strapped for cash by any means, but he still intended to send John to college soon as he finished highschool and that meant needing a tidy nest egg long beforehand what with inflation of prices. Especially since he wanted his son to be able to go anywhere he wanted instead of being forced to settle for something that wasn’t what he wanted.

John was the apple of his eye, and he’d do well by him. Maybe eventually he’d join the family business, but if he wound up leading an honest life, well.. Who was he to complain? It would just mean that he’d been raised right all along.

Strider.

James’ stomach flipped when he saw the name again, though this time from within his own email. Another potential job offer potentially thwarted by someone offering a lower price. From a well established client no less! Of course he wouldn’t work side by side with this stranger!

...Or would he.

The opportunity to meet up with this fellow and establish a clear cut boundary on his business was appealing. Perhaps to even remove him if he seemed to be too much of an obstacle. Pursing his lips, James started typing as he listened to water run in the bathroom in the hallway.

“Actually wet the brush and brush your teeth properly, John,” he called out as he typed. “The tooth fairy doesn’t pay for cavities.”

“I am! And I already lost all my baby teeth!” came an indignant reply, though the water splashed gently for good measure as the stream was interrupted, making him smile a bit. John was such a good boy at his heart, really.

  
  
  


**YES, I AM WILLING TO TAKE ON THE JOB WITH STRIDER. SEND ME HIS CONTACT DETAILS SO WE CAN COORDINATE PROPERLY. **

**EVER YOURS,**

** \- J**

  
  
  
  


He really hoped he wouldn’t regret this, but the blossoming sensation in his stomach was pretty strong indication that he already was. After checking a few more sites, James was starting to settle down once more and browse more normal websites, putting Netflix on in the background for some sound. Documentaries were always nice to have on in the background before sleep came, a good soft sound with information passing back and forth instead of characters he’d need to focus on and remember the motives of. 

A ping caught his attention. Email again, new message. Probably some nonsense, but perhaps a new job to do solo he thought hopefully. ...He was wrong. The message was a simple message.

  
  
  


**Sup.**

  
  


** \- Strider**

  
  
  


Sup? Sup?? What kind of a fucking joke was this? Was this the same Strider as the site, or was it someone else? The language fit the blonde man he’d seen at a distance before potentially, but the absolute gall still struck James silly. A strongly worded letter was already forming in his mind, but instead of telling this fool where he could stick his single worded greeting James took a deep breath, slowly exhaled out his nose, and typed a formal reply. A simple meeting on neutral ground to discuss things would be good. Judging from his attire before and his general attitude, fast food seemed as good a guess as any as to where the best meeting option would be. Four o’ clock sharp the next day, local Mcdonald's. What could go wrong?

\- - - -

  
  


A lot. A lot could go wrong. For one, James had made the mistake of assuming his associate would be on time. For another, he assumed he would have been alone, not bringing a pre-teen boy along and depositing him in the play place with his meal like a dog being left at doggy daycare. Strider was dressed the same as when James had spotted him at a distance, a white polo with the collar popped up and starched like bitter wings highlighting the sharp angles of his face. The man was all angles, from his sharp jutting nose to his jaw and shoulders, to the elbows at the bend of muscular arms. His legs looked a bit thin comparatively, but then again a man who dealt in blades needed stronger arms than legs, right? He grabbed a big mac, fries and a drink for himself and approached the booth James had settled into without a second thought. Unwrapping his food, he piled fries on top of the burger, smashed it down from its inflated size, took a bite, and with his mouth still full of food finally spoke.

“So. What’s kickin’.”

He’d expected a lot of things, but for this Strider fellow to have a Texan drawl? That was a surprise for James. He sipped his coffee and checked to see if his apple pie had cooled or not, then figured out how to reply to that.

“A good deal is kicking,” James said. “You should know, considering you’ve made yourself welcome in someone else’s territory.”

Short, sweet, to the point.

“This ain’t a school yard, if you’re gonna get territorial but still get lowballed then I dunno what to tell ya man,” Strider said as he took another bite of his wad of a sandwich. He licked a bit of sauce from his knuckle then picked up his drink with a claw like motion of his left hand, sucking from the straw between his fingers before setting it back down. “We working together or you just wanna gripe at me.”

This was not destined to be a long lasting companionship, he could already tell. No, this was going to be quite a short endeavor, and then a nice long drive to the pier to deposit some suitcases of whatever was left of this clown and some cement to the ocean’s floor before John’s next birthday if all worked out well. James Egbert wasn’t established in this neck of the woods for nothing.

He put on a smile and opened his apple pie, taking a warm bite of it finally and savoring the simple overly intense sweetness settle in. Nothing compared to some nice Betty Crocker or home made, but it would do in a pinch.

“Yes, we’re working together. I welcome you, so long as you’re respectful,” he clarified. “I know the ins and outs of this area and have many contacts in place already. I’d appreciate an extra hand for this next job.” The job he could do himself with one fucking hand, but who was he to be honest now when he was already plotting this idiots death? Honesty was not the best policy right now.

“I’d rather do it alone, but yeah, I can handle an extra set of hands if you’re good as you claim,” Strider said, tearing into his burger like a starving dog. 

James looked over Strider’s right shoulder towards the play area and saw the blonde boy he’d brought sitting in the corner eating his meal. Their eyes met briefly through the glass (Or did they? Sunglasses made everything difficult.) before he looked away towards the garishly bright colors of the ball pit and then resolutely towards his meal. He was far too old to be in that area, no doubt he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. Why did Strider insist on bringing him along? Surely he could have stayed home or something for a single meeting. Or perhaps it was his own way of being low key, blending in with the surroundings? Another glance up and the boy had stood up and walked away from his food to dive face first into the ball pit, remaining there like a statue.

...Strange child. Strange adult too, he recalled as he refocused on Strider who had continued to eat his food without a second thought.

“Right. So about our appointment..”

  
  


\- - - -

  
  


Strider at work was different than James had imagined. There was a careless way he held his body, his stance was loose but somehow in complete control at the same time. Not to even mention that when he went in for the killing strike it was with a smile and a spark behind those shades that was somewhat charming. Maybe it was the blood spray messing with his line of thinking, but James would almost describe it as beautiful as much as it was maniacal. They cleaned up after the hit in silence, Strider efficient and crisp with the cleansers on hand, and James himself using a bit of his own that he tended to bring along for stubborn spots on the job.

He used a Tide pen to clean just such an unwanted spot off of his tie, while Strider washed and dried his hands, wiping down the taps for fingerprints afterwards for good measure. He dried his hands on his pants legs like a hooligan, checked the fridge for drinks, and then stole a random jacket from the closet instead. He looped it over his arm as if he were going to deliver it instead of wearing it, making James frown in confusion.

“Why do you do that? You stole beer from the other hit you took out from under my nose.”

“Appearances,” Strider said. “If a strange guy walks into a buildin’ and walks back out empty handed, or with too much, he looks suspicious. But if he walks in and comes out with a coat, or booze, or a pair of boots or somethin’ it looks theoretically like he’s just runnin’ an errand for a friend who forgot somethin’. Nobody pays attention to a guy with a coat or the dude doin’ the beer run.”

Merit. The thought had merit, even if it wasn’t how James felt it should be done. The spot was being stubborn on his tie, stubborn enough that he frowned at the tide pen in his hand like it had betrayed him even more severely and went back to dabbing at it as a last ditch effort.

“I see. People don’t seem to notice the clean cut gentleman in the suit and tie either, especially the closer it is to office hours ending or beginning.”

“Walk out with a trophy, you’ll look even more relaxed.”

“Or like I’ve already got off the clock,” James finally said. The pen had failed, and so he loosened his tie to make the spot disappear beneath his jacket, undid a few buttons, and mussed his hair before putting his hat back on. “There. Perfect.”

“No five o’ clock shadow,” Strider pointed out. “You look too crisp still. Normal workin’ Joes would be crumpled and ready to strip by then, but you’re barely a hair out of place even now. Maybe it’s just the DSL you’ve got, but you look too perky still.”

“DSL?” James asked, confused. “Like the internet thing?”

“Nah, nah. DSL,” Strider said as he adjusted the coat on his arm, looking around the room again. The body was in the tub and rinsed down already, the area cleaned up. There was nothing more to do. “Dick suckin’ lips. You’ve got a nice mouth on you.”

James gaped at him, and once again was acutely aware of how badly he wanted to strangle this man bare handed, feel the subtle creaks and crackles of bone and sinew and tendon beneath his clawed fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Strider said, heading for the door. “I’ve gotta pick my kid up from school early for a dentist thing, hang around here for a few minutes before leavin’.”

James was still staring when Strider left, bewildered and angry. What right did he have to talk to him like that…? Who even talked like that to a perfect stranger?! The fucking audacity! He clenched his teeth, was angry for thinking him attractive earlier while he was working, and counted down ten minutes before leaving and locking up behind himself.

This was not the start of a beautiful friendship.


	2. Bro

The boy from McDonalds was not who James assumed he’d see in his living room that weekend. Yet there he was, blonde and wearing the same distinctive sunglasses he’d been wearing before his trip into the ball pit, standing like a statue beside his beaming son.

“Dad, this is my friend Dave! Dave Strider. I still can’t really believe he moved here of all places.. But he’s here now! Can he stay the night? Please? Please please please?”

Strider. His actual name was Strider. That blonde himbo was actually using his real name for his assassination gigs? His entire business was actually based around his real, honest to God, legal name? What kind of a fucking idiot-

“Yes, of course. I’ll just make dinner a bit earlier so there’s plenty to go around. You boys go ahead and go play.”

“YES, thanks Dad!” John said, grabbing Dave by the pliant wrist and dragging him physically upstairs in a rush.

“Don’t forget to get your homework started!” James called after him. “Guest or no guest, you know you don’t get it all done when you wait till Sunday!”

“Yeah Dad!” called the voice of a certain son who was going to be doing no such thing, not when the allure of having a real live friend over was calling. This was a time for videogames and talking and playing and doing whatever else kids their age did when along together.

This was also a time for stress cooking. James retired to the kitchen to bake as he often did when tense, the call of gingersnaps and shortbread promising to be soothing for his nerves. He measured the ingredients out carefully, mixing with purpose in two separate bowls, manually instead of with the sturdy stand mixer. No, he needed his arm to burn a bit from this for it to really kick in and relax him.

His first concerns were for the boy, obviously. He’d not so much as said a word, which didn’t match the verbose description John had ascribed to him over the years. The Texan boy apparently didn’t ever shut up, yet here he’d been absolutely silent behind those dark shades, watching James’ movements carefully. Was he alright? Was he surprised to see him again? Or worse yet, did he know? And how much did he know? Was he like John, aware of the family business? Did he now think John didn’t know his father was a killer?

He could foresee things going strangely in several different directions based on how the evening went. Carefully he set the first covered dough inside the fridge to chill, then focused on the shortbread instead, adding a bit of flavoring to ensure they’d have a nice hint of almond with every crunch. The propensity for the same scent to be poison didn’t phase him for more than a split second, the baking doing its job to clear his mind.

Mostly.

What if this boy was spying on him and his family, reporting everything back to the elder Strider? ...But who would use their own child to do spying? Even worse than that, what would he do if John ever asked to go over to this child’s home? Leaving his son alone with Strider, would he be able to do that? If anything ever happened to John he’d-

James heard the snap before he realized it, pressing too hard at an angle into the stiff dough with the spatula had managed to break the tool in half in his hand. Damn it. So much for a soothing exercise. He sighed and covered the dough before placing it in to chill with the other, busying himself with cleaning the kitchen back to its usual spotless glory before going to his study. Drinking this early in the day wasn’t a good idea, but a nice pipe and some music would surely do the trick.

Stuffing the tobacco into the pipe, James lit it and took a few drags, then turned on some nice soft jazz on the radio before taking a seat in his chair and leaning back with a sigh. He really should quit smoking someday, but that day was not today, not when his nerves needed this to badly.

Strider.

This was all Strider’s fault. Part of James wondered if he should charge the man for the broken spatula or not. That beast of a man who could dispatch a man as well as James himself, with glee even, then turn around and make a comment about another man’s mouth like he had. He pursed his lips, annoyed at the insinuation all over again. Dick sucking lips indeed. If anything, Strider was the one who had that type of lips, they’d looked full and he’d look good on his knees.

James sputtered a cough, startled by his line of thought, and grasped his pipe with one hand before raking his other up through his hair. That was unexpected. ...Not entirely incorrect, but unexpected. Strider was a handsome, strong, talented man. The fact he was competition merely made the flickers of attraction more of a nuisance. Were he just a random man, perhaps it could be feasible to sample and part. But no. Not with someone who was competition, and especially not annoying competition like this.

...Though. If he WERE going to dally like that, it would have to be his own way. Maybe beat Strider down till he was on his back, wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze till he was more pliant, more willing to listen. Maybe perch in front of him and work his mouth over his length by dragging his head forward and back, see how that sore throat worked over his dick. Maybe go a step further and see how he felt down below. Surely someone strong as he was would look attractive beneath his clothes, and probably below the belt. He might struggle a bit, but yield after a moment.

James blinked a bit, coming out of the daydream when he realized things were extremely quiet. With John in the house, with a new guest no less, he sort of assumed there’d be noise. Sounds of playing, or talking, or.. Anything. He rose and turned the jazz off, listening closely again. No noise of computer games or videogames, no shouts or giggles. That Dave boy might be acting strangely right now, but James expected sound from his son. Even at least noise of them moving about. He puffed his pipe and slowly ascended the stairs, ears trained on the further door. 

“-ow what it’s like. I can’t imagine Dad being gone all the time though.”

“Yeah, well, you get used to it. Bro’s kinda antsy when he’s home too long, guy’s got a ton of businesses. Tons of sites on the normal web and deep web, too.”

“Deep web?”

“We’re not talkin’ the Mariana’s Trench or anything, but the non-wikipedia-friendly section of the internet is wide the fuck open and perforated like swiss cheese with Bro’s sites. He’s got as many below ground as above.”

“Like that kind of sites?”

“Puppets, smuppets, ventriloquism, DJ stuff, music shit, the main business. Y’know. That kinda stuff. It’s from watchin’ his sites that I learned how to make my own,” Dave said a little proudly. “He says they’re too easy to break still, but it’s an improvement. He checks every time I update, and I’ve never had a single problem with web hostin’ or anything because of him.”

“He has a site for the main business?” John asked, surprised.

“Yeah, smuppets are a big deal for some God awful reason.”

“No, no, I mean. ...Y’know.”

James pressed his ear to the door, listening closely for John’s voice to pick back up.

“Killin’ people? Oh. Yeah, no, it’s a necessity, how else can people know what you do and hire you? Duh. Your dad prolly has one too.”

James caught his fumbled pipe as it fell from his mouth, but not quietly enough. His hand brushed the door, silencing both inside once again before he repositioned his pipe and knocked properly.

“Son?” he called, trying to think quickly. “Would you two like some snacks? I think we still have some chips and dip on hand.”

“No thanks Dad! I might make popcorn tonight, but I think we’re good for now!” John called. 

“Thanks for askin’ Mr. Egbert,” Dave added.

Well, fuck. He had to leave the door now. No more listening.

“Just pop on down if you need anything then, dinner will be ready in a few hours and I’m making some cookies as well.”

He heard John groan and smiled a bit, used to their back and forth banter by now to know it was the long suffering groan of a boy who’d still eat a handful of cookies in the end of the night like everyone else.    
  


\- - - -

  
  


Dave’s stay was fairly uneventful in the long scheme of things. Though James wondered who had spilled the beans first, or how Dave came to know about his proclivities, he didn’t seem too concerned about being in a killer’s home. He ate heartily during dinner after John started to tear into his shells and cheese, taking a second helping of porkchop and green beans for himself. Ah, the age where they were growing was hitting and James knew it was just a matter of time before John reached the point of feeling hungry all the time. He was prepared, but it was a little nostalgic how fast time was passing.

The boys stayed in John’s room the majority of the time discussing things and eventually playing videogames, coming downstairs later in the evening to pop popcorn and watch movies on the bigger screen in the living room. They’d both probably say they were far too old for a blanket fort, but nobody was too old for a blanket nest, wads of cushions and pillows making a soft space on the floor for them to both sit, John in pajamas and Dave in borrowed sweatpants and a t-shirt. James snapped a picture of them huddled up together, right when the killer jumped out at the camera, mouths wide with surprise and eyes huge, Dave’s shades up in his hair. He never seemed to take them off or set them far away even when he did. It made him feel good to see a gift that John had sent him was appreciated that much.

The next day they were resting in the living room looking sleep deprived but comfortable together, Dave playing on his phone on the floor with his back against the sofa, John sprawled out on the cushions playing a handheld game right behind him. Occasionally they’d lean and get the others attention with their items, snicker, then go back to their separate activities. The knock at the door caught them all by surprise, James peeking out from the kitchen, apron on and knife in hand from where he’d been slicing some peeled carrots for a quick lunch stir fry. His tightened his grip on it out of habit when John got up to answer the door on his own, and damn near threw the thing when none other than Strider stood at the door.

He was nonchalant, stance laid back and slouching, hands in his pockets and that same stupid popped collar on his shirt. Strider grinned down at John and lifted his chin, directing his gaze further into the couch. Dave was rising without a word to head outside to his.. Brother? Father? He’d called him Bro but Strider had referred to Dave as his kid. What was the story there? He smirked when he looked even further and saw James’ apron clad self.

“You never told me you had a kid,” was all he said.

Of fucking course he’d never mentioned John, what kind of a moron mentions he has children when the main topic of discussion is assassination? This type of moron apparently.

“I never felt it was important to mention in passing,” James said with a shrug. “We’ve met.. What. Once?”

John blinked and looked back to his father in surprise. Based on the discussion from last night, John seemed to turn a few ideas over in his mind before something else clicked and he backed away from the door. Dave glanced at him and smiled a bit, reassuringly, and stood off to Strider’s side outdoors.

“Thanks for havin’ me over John. Mr. Egbert.”

“Thanks for keepin’ the kiddo out of my hair for a Saturday,” Strider said with the same smirk. “Started to forget what free time was like, it was refreshin’.” To John he instead said, “Don’t worry, kid, I don’t bite too hard.”

No, he didn’t bite. Stabbing was more his style, overpowering and slicing, chopping, breaking bones with fists was his style. Not biting. John looked uneasy and stiffened, looking back to his father in confusion once more to see what he was meant to do. James approached, knife in hand, and set a hand on the door. He propped a grin up.

“It was wonderful to have you over, Dave, I hope we can have you again sometime. Strider, what do you want me to call you? It feels odd just calling you by your last name in these circumstances.”

“Bro. Just call me Bro, everyone else does,” he said with a wave of his hand. It came down atop Dave’s head, rustling his hair to mess it up and push his head downwards roughly for a moment before releasing him. “C’mon squirt, let’s kick it.”

“Fu- I mean. Yeah. Sure,” Dave corrected quickly, finger combing his hair. “Bye guys,” he added before turning around to follow Bro’s long legged gait back to the truck parked on the curb. Literally on the curb. Not beside it, on top of it, tire smashing the grass and ensuring there would be some water pooling when it rained, promising a future mud pit.

Bastard.

“...Dad. Uh. Was.. Was he also..? Uhm. I mean. Dave sai-”

“Yes, son, he’s like me,” James sighed, closing and locking the door. “But don’t worry. I don’t think he’s dangerous. ...That said, if he ever makes you feel unsafe or tries to hurt you, you tell me immediately okay? There’s no need to be afraid or listen to any potential threats when I’m the boogeyman to begin with.”

“Alright Dad,” John promised, murmuring, running his hand through his hair uncertainly. “...Sorry, by the way. Dave said something about his brother and then he said he’d seen you before, and that his brother told him all kinds of things and then he asked if I could keep a secret and-”

“It’s okay, son. I trust you. I know you’d never bring up the family business out of the blue to anyone. Strider is a special case.”

A very special case that would have to be the perfect sign off for James when he died. A message to any other incomers to keep their fucking backs to the wall. It would be a shame for Dave of course, but he was welcome any time he wanted, be that for the weekend of permanently since he got along with John. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to leave a child abandoned like that after all.

“Come on. Come help me with this stir fry, you can pick the sauces for it.”

“You mean it?” asked John, perking up. “Even if I make it really salty?”

“Hopefully not too salty, we still need to be able to eat it,” James chuckled, twirling his knife in a practiced hand before leading back to the kitchen. “I even got water chestnuts for this one.”

  
  


\- - - -

  
  


Late Sunday night, James finally retired to bed with a plate of cookies and some cool milk to soothe his nerves. John had done the dishes and they’d played loud music while taking care of the counters and the floor after dinner, only stopping when it came to light that John had not, in fact, finished his homework. The light was still on under the crack of his door when James went to his own room, and he hoped he’d sleep soon enough. Nobody needed stress in their life in this house.

  
  
  


**D wants to know the recipe for that mac and cheese you ate, said it was home made. Can it be made with boxed instant, that’s all I know how to make.**

  
  


** \- Strider**

  
  


Nobody needed stress, yet there it was. James sighed and dunked a cookie into the milk, crunching it carefully to avoid leaving crumbs behind. A message from a fellow assassin and it was asking for cooking advice. The deep web email, and he wanted mac and cheese information. James typed up the ingredients and some directions that went with them clearly enough that even John could make it by himself easily, hit send, and scrolled down the rest of his business.

Damn it. The bastard worked fast, half of the messages he had tonight were inquiries asking if he would either go lower in price than Strider or go 50/50 on the feat. The other half, thankfully, were hits he would be glad to take on his own to keep food on the table and a roof over he and John’s head. They weren’t the most savory… but one definitely did catch his eye. He had a soft spot for people who had harmed women or children, they were some of his favorite hits to take. Real scum of the Earth types who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves were a cinch to take care of. The biggest, loudest men were usually the quickest to cry foul and beg for their lives. Not that it did any good.

A ding, a fresh email.

  
  
  


**Does it have to be cream, or will milk work fine. Also D wants to know if J can come over next weekend for a sleepover. I’ve got a gig already planned so I won’t be home till late, but seems fine by me.**

  
  


** \- Strider**

  
  


James blinked briefly at his screen, incredulous. One tab had information on a man who had destroyed a woman’s life and harmed her child, fresh for the plucking job-wise, and the other tab had playdate information. The overlap of his two realities was dizzying sometimes, but this was ridiculous.

  
  
  


**MILK CAN WORK, BUT CREAM IS BETTER. J IS ALLOWED TO GO, BUT ON THE STIPULATION THAT IF A SINGLE HAIR IS HARMED ON HIS HEAD I SKIN YOU LIKE AN APPLE AND MAKE YOU EAT EVERY SCRAP BEFORE YOU DIE. WOULD YOU RATHER DISCUSS NON-JOB RELATED ITEMS VIA TEXT OR PHONE INSTEAD OF THIS? THIS IS USUALLY RESERVED FOR WORK EMAIL ONLY.**

  
  


** -JE**

  
  


Another reply came in quickly, making James realize that they were potentially in similar positions as they spoke. It was late, the children were either in bed or getting tired, or should be at least. Strider.. No. ‘Bro’. Bro was probably relaxing in bed or in his own living room, strolling through the work related things for the night. It was another strangely human thing that linked them whether he wanted it or not: fatherhood.

  
  
  


**Milk it is then. Also don’t worry, no apple peeling needed, J’s good as gold safe since he’s D’s friend. And sure, here’s my cell number. Text me when you get the chance, I’ll let you keep your precious work life separation in tact.**

  
  


** \- Strider**

  
  


The email had a picture file attached of a sequence of numbers. James found himself reaching for his cellphone, tapping the number in, and saving it under Dave’s Father. He then debated for several minutes on what to actually send before deciding to tap out another recipe, this time for the pork chops they’d eaten. 

  
  


**THESE WERE ANOTHER ITEM WE HAD AT DINNER WITH THE MAC AND CHEESE, DAVE HAD SECONDS OF IT SO I ASSUME HE ENJOYED IT. THEY’RE EASY TO MAKE, JUST MAKE SURE THEY’RE FULLY COOKED.**

Fairly quickly the reply bounced back.

**Wow. You actually contacted me. I was wondering if you actually would, or if this would just be another instance of invitation being turned down. **

**Thanks, I’ll try these out, see if the kid likes them when I’m the one cooking them.**

**He’s been on cloud nine since he got home, whatever the hell happened has him over the moon. **

**My kid didn’t fuck your kid, right?**

James sputtered and almost choked on the milk he’d decided to finish drinking, setting the cup aside as he swallowed sideways on an air bubble and felt the wad ache all the way down to his stomach. Good Lord.

**I SHOULD SAY NOT, THERE WAS NO HANKY PANKY HAPPENING AT THIS HOUSE. AT MOST THEY PLAYED VIDEOGAMES AND TALKED A LOT. WATCHED MOVIES. **

James suddenly remembered the picture he snapped, and sent the photo of the boys startled out of their minds by the movie last night so Bro could see as well.

**Hah, little shit’s got no stomach for horror jump scares but he still watches it like some kind of test. Thanks, I’ll save this for later. **

James didn’t ask what kind of test Dave might be placing on himself. Was it a self test to see if he’d be able to carry on the family business? Or for some other kind of profession that gore and horror could be linked to? For that matter, there was still the question of paternity on James’ mind.

**FORGIVE ME IF THIS IS FORWARD, BUT IS THERE A MRS. STRIDER ANYWHERE? AND IS DAVE YOUR SON OR YOUR BROTHER? IT’S A TAD CONFUSING HEARING EVERYONE REFER TO YOU AS BRO.**

**He’s my son. Was a bit of an oopsie-baby, but turns out it was worth it in the end because he’s a pretty cool kid. **

**I’m not father material though, so Bro fits better than anything else, and I’d rather keep it that way.**

**As for Mrs. Strider, why do you ask? Are you volunteering?**

_ Cheeky motherfucker.  _

**I WAS MERELY TRYING TO LEARN A BIT MORE ABOUT YOUR SITUATION WHILE WE WERE DISCUSSING THE BOYS. I’M FLATTERED, BUT WOULD HAVE TO DECLINE. **

**I’M TOO CLASSY FOR YOU.**

My, but James was feeling playful tonight. Perhaps it was the rebellious sensation of eating cookies and milk in bed so late at night, or the banter being quick witted and smoother in text than it had been during their brief bit of working together. He smirked at the screen when he saw that Bro was typing a reply out.

**You’re right, you are.**

Well. That was unexpected.

**Can’t blame a man for trying, though.**

He smirked a bit. John’s door opened and the water in the bathroom came on for a moment, before the door opened and closed again. A signal that sleep was finally going to settle over the house like a blanket, and that it was time for James to wash up and sleep as well while the mood was good. 

**GOOD EVENING FOR NOW THEN, STRIDER. **

**Do me a favor? What should I call you, instead of JE.**

**CALL ME JAMES. EVERYBODY DOES.**

**Goodnight then, James.**

Somehow, being wished goodnight by his name hit him harder than anticipated. The strange sensation persisted in James’ chest as he rose from bed to take his dishes to the kitchen sink, hung around as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, lurked in the back of his brain as he climbed back into bed and danced in front of his eyes once he turned everything off and lay there in the dark.

Goodnight James indeed.


	3. Dirk

Somehow, Bro had gone from a pain in the neck that needed to be eliminated as soon as possible to a figure that James didn’t respect so much as cope with. While they were still sharing many jobs, once in a while James had even found himself reaching out on his own or being reached out to for assistance. Two well trained men were handier for larger or more complex jobs than a single man, and while it was hard to admit… it was actually kind of thrilling to finally have someone to work with who could keep up with his pace. They kept each other on their toes, even getting somewhat playful in their banter, and engaged in a warm rapport via their cellphone messages that sometimes sent conversations spiraling deep into the night.

It was nice to have a friend. Even if that friend was a pain in the neck sometimes.

For one thing, Bro continued to make sexual comments and comparisons at the drop of a hat. For another, it actually got James’ goose occasionally and it irritated him to no end. Bro was distracting up close, from the scent of his cologne to the way muscle moved beneath his skin when he was dismembering someone, to the careless way he wiped blood off his face with his forearm and smeared it for a moment, he was a fucking distraction. It had seemed like a miracle that there was no Mrs. Strider at first, yet the longer he knew Bro the more it made sense.

While the man was clearly bisexual, he was in no way fit to be a spouse, and seemed to have a heavy slant towards men. Which made James, similarly single yet more even in attraction, an easy target. A constant target.

Were this any other profession, he’d have contacted management about Bro ages ago, but in this field you just sucked it up and moved on. The too long stares, the comments, the sexual innuendos, the occasional touches to his hand or back or hip. All of it needed to be ignored.

...But it wasn’t. It wasn’t ignored, no matter how hard James tried. The more they spoke, the closer they got in one way or another, the more jobs they did together, the harder it was to get the man out of his thoughts. It was dangerous in this line of work, yet the coal of curiosity had been steadily stoked over the months to a full flame.

So, too, had John’s if the hickey on his neck after the last sleepover was any indication. However he might feel about Bro, James was proud of his son having a crush and acting on it, especially when they seemed to be so inseparable these days.

Were anything to happen between himself and Bro, however, James wanted to assure that the work relationship would be maintained. Even if things went sour between them, there was no need to take it out on the children when they were enjoying each other’s presence. There needed to be ground rules established. James took a shower and thought of his options, put on his robe, and settled down on his bed with his phone.

  
  


**CONSIDERING I’M NOT STUPID, I’VE NOTICED YOUR ATTEMPTS AT MAKING YOURSELF AVAILABLE FOR QUITE SOME TIME, AND I’VE DECIDED TO TAKE UP THE OFFER. TEMPORARILY AT LEAST, BARRING ANYTHING ELSE.**

**WOULD YOU BE INTERESTED IN JOINING US FOR DINNER SOMETIME?**

**Are you trying to ask me on a date, failing, and asking me to engage in a family friendly activity instead?**

**I WOULDN’T CALL IT FAILING IF IT GOT THE MESSAGE ACROSS JUST FINE.**

**And if I asked if you wanted to go out for dinner, get some drinks and spend an evening with me at a sleazy motel instead of going home? **

**Is that an option instead of family friendly fun time?**

James’ throat went dry. Well. That was several steps ahead, but he wouldn’t put it past Bro at this point in their understanding of each other.

**DOES IT HAVE TO BE SLEAZY? WHY IS YOUR FIRST INSTINCT SOMEWHERE SLEAZY.**

**Because the first thing that comes to mind when I’m in a mood to fuck isn’t exactly the Holiday Inn, James. **

**I don’t care if somewhere has a continental breakfast and mints on the pillow, I care if it’s used to raunchy characters and potentially has a heart shaped jacuzzi in the corner.**

Touche’. James stared at his screen for a minute before sighing. Well. Dinner and drinks would be nice, and after a few stiff ones he’d probably not care as much about shabby interiors and questionably clean sheets. He pursed his lips briefly. ...Or perhaps instead of hoping he was drunk enough to not care, there were other options.

**WHY HALF ASS IT? WE’RE HARDLY SUBSISTING ON SCRAPS, AND I’M AWARE YOU HAVE ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS ENTERPRISE ON THE SIDE. INSTEAD OF CHEAP LET’S GO HIGH END. WHY NOT A NIGHT AT THE HILTON OR SOME OTHER MORE EXPENSIVE PLACE.**

**BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING, WORKOUT SPACE, SPA. YOU COULD GET WHAT YOU WERE AFTER AND ENJOY SOME PAMPERING AT THE SAME TIME YOU AVOID ROACH BITES.**

**Tempting. The bedbug threat usually adds a bit of danger to the equation, but the concept of non-sticky floors is appealing indeed.**

He smirked. Of course it would be. James was already planning on what to tell John about his absence, what fibs to tell, what things to omit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to be away from home on business, and surely the same could be said of Bro, so it wouldn’t be abnormal. There’d be no questions surely, just an ‘Okay, Dad!’ and a smile. Trusting, sweet boy of his.

**You’ve sweet talked me into it James. I’ve got a gig the next few days, but how about after that?**

**I’M NOT FREE THIS WEEKEND SADLY, THERE’S A JOB.**

**Damn it, make everything sound sweet and get me interested and then it’s a cocktease because of schedules.**

**NOT MY FAULT.**

**Didn’t mean to say it was, just frustrating. How about next weekend?**

**SHOULD BE CLEAR AND IF IT’S NOT I’LL MAKE IT CLEAR.**

**Careful, I’ll start thinking you’re a nice guy at some point if you keep shit like this up. The hollow space where my heart was is getting confused feeling dokis.**

**WHAT IS A DOKI?**

**Nevermind. Either way, next weekend it is then. We’ll figure out what to eat before game day,**

**SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN TO ME.**

And just like that, James realized “...Oh, God, I’ve got a date.”

  
  


\- - - -

The date went well, surprisingly. Bro dressed up a bit instead of down, an actual button down shirt with a tie loosely in place to reach the level of dress code required by the restaurant. His slacks and the strange shoes he seemed to wear at all times were a surprisingly good match. He even took off the hat inside when prompted to reveal well maintained hair, and after a little while, removed his shades as well. If James hadn’t thought him attractive before then he certainly would have after getting a look at those golden eyes of his. They looked somewhat like pulled honey candy, the rich orangey yellow tone when the light hit just right. Captivating.

They dined on steak and made small talk, which… mostly revolved around the children and various aspects of their lives that they’d hinted at before but never indulged in for a longer time. It was pleasant to relax this much and enjoy a nice meal, really. They split a bottle of wine with the meal as a pre-game for the bar, though in hindsight James wished he hadn’t. The red wasn’t very appealing for what they paid for it, throwing a bit of a pall on the very end of the meal and the lingering taste of their dessert. At least they’d been classy enough to make their cake from scratch and the ice cream had been delightful.

The bar was smoky and close quartered, but not quite a dive. It had a fine selection of mixed drinks that they both set to sampling, Bro with his tie finally loosened and a few buttons open to make up for the lack of a popped collar, and James with his own tie loosened though he never would have shown as much skin as Bro was so readily doing. Was it just how he was while drinking? Or was it specifically because they both knew what was ahead?

...What WAS ahead? They hadn’t discussed how things would go, who would yield, if they’d take turns. James assumed it would sort itself out when time came, that they’d figure out how to proceed based on how the mood felt. And judging by the fact Bro’s hand was now riding higher on his thigh, James felt the mood was good enough for this time of night. They made it through drinks and more intimate talk, the liquor unlocking their tongues somewhat. Bro talked about raising Dave after his surprise arrival, James discussed raising John through his own grief, they commisserated. They hugged. They talked about more intimate things like their first experiences with sex, traded stories of experiences and laughs, and edged closer and closer into talking about what they each liked in bed.

They were fighting the urge to tangle together by the time they reached the Hilton, and failing to keep it together at all by the time they were alone in the elevator. James could taste the whiskey on Bro’s tongue when it slipped into his mouth in the corner, the other taking initiative to start a solid kiss with a tasteful bit of grinding. Not tasteful enough if the surprised gasp of a housekeeper was any indication, but they took off like two guilty teenagers to find their room down the plush hallway. One pass of the key card and they were in the suite, kicking the door shut behind them, and finding the nearest wall with another thud.

The fine decor, the soft flooring and bright freshly turned linens were ignored in favor of fighting over who got to kiss where. James was stronger, but he knew it was a close battle at best. Off went the ties and by then stifling button down shirts, Bro helping James remove his before licking a hot stripe down his chest, over the relatively hairless expanse of his stomach and then down the treasure trail to the top of his belt and trousers. James quirked a brow at him, an unspoken question of if he’d be going further, which was met with a smirk and the removal of his shades once more.

Well, then. Okay.

James took an eager seat on the foot of the bed before Bro could change his mind and spread his knees a bit to make room for the man to settle down on the floor between them. He undid his belt and zipper before Bro stopped him, swatting his hands out of the way as if he were doing everything wrong and being a nuisance in the way instead of an active participant. This was going to be done Bro’s way apparently, and Bro’s way was very direct. In short order James’ cock was free to the air and continuing to steadily rise, growing bit by bit till fully erect. Bro whistled softly from down on his knees.

“Damn. You were hidin’ this the whole time? Jesus, I should’ve fucked you way sooner.”

“It’s nothing too impressive, stop trying to stroke my ego.”

“If I was strokin’ your ego you’d know it, I’m sayin’ you’ve got a pretty dick here and that I’m pissed I didn’t get to sample it till just now,” Bro insisted, wrapping his hand around the length and stroking the soft skin a few times till it warmed his hand. He lowered his head without another word, licking the underside of the head before swirling round the tip, going over the slit with the flat of his tongue, then starting to suckle.

It had been a while since James was in this position, and even longer since it had been with another man it felt like. Or maybe just a man of Bro’s caliber. The feeling of power was immense, having someone built like the man in front of him down on his knees with his dick in his mouth, focused on contracting his cheeks and pulling suction steadily as if his cock were a fancy candy on a stick. He reached down to take Bro’s hat off after removing his own, then gave in to the urge to stroke a hand through that thick mane of blonde hair. He scritched the scalp somewhat roughly before tenderly, gently petting the side of Bro’s head till he glanced up with those golden hues. Then, without much warning, he grasped a good fistfull and tugged forward to coax Bro to start taking more of his length.

Bro didn’t fight or complain. Instead he honest to God moaned and exhaled out of his nose as he sank down further on James’ cock, opening his throat as he suckled and bobbed his head in time with James’ fistful of hair that gave directions. Deeper, faster, slower. Occasionally James waited till they got a good rhythm going and then pushed Bro’s head down far as it would go, sliding down his throat and choking him for a moment just to feel him swallow and struggle before allowing him to pull back for air. Saliva flowed freely down his chin, adding to the feeling and the ambiance of the room, still mostly dark save for the light they’d hit by the door upon entry. All there was was heavy breathing from two men, the wet, messy sound of a dick being sucked for all it was worth, and occasionally heady moans or soft curse words.

James was gentler with Bro when he got closer to his peak. ...Or he tried to be. When he eased up and started to pet more, to praise, Bro stared up at him determinedly and put his hand back into his hair as if giving his own command. No affection and sweet nothings, old man. Only throat fucking now. He kept the pattern up till he came, doing as Bro seemed to want: using him roughly as he pleased, grinding his nose down into his pubic hair as he strained to swallow around his dick between bursts of being able to get enough breath till finally hot jets were aimed right at the back of his throat. Bro swallowed each drop dutifully, and even when released took the time to continue to suckle till he released James with a wet pop and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked satisfied, flush faced, eyes watering from the strain. He looked fit to burst.

“Christ, and here I thought your mouth was just a facet of your personality,” James said breathlessly, afterglow still warm in his stomach and his chest fluttering. “I thought you were going to suck the life out of me at that rate.”

Bro smirked at him and rose up to stand before pushing James back onto the mattress, straddling his waist with those impossibly long legs. He looked comfortable there, half dressed and about four inches away from a cock that was only half wilted. The night was young, and while they weren’t any more, for the time being they were plenty young enough. 

“Gave me a good run for my money there, man, I haven’t had to swallow somethin’ that thick in a long time. Kept thinkin’ I’d scrape somethin’ with my teeth,” he said, rubbing a sore jaw before adjusting it with an audible click.

“I assume I’m…?” James said, trailing off as he rubbed Bro’s legs with his palms a few times. Getting fucked would be pleasant at this point. He was already in his afterglow, and a few rounds of someone with an edge for the rough stuff would be just what he needed. But Bro shook his head, smirking as he ground his hips backwards against the recovering dick teasingly.

“Unless that can magically come back in the next forty seconds, yeah, you’re playin’ catch. Round two though, that cock better be so far up my ass I’m seein’ stars, I am  _ not  _ leavin’ this room without bein’ dicked down by that. You hear me?” Bro drawled, the distinctive accent becoming heavier now. It just added to the charm.

“Let me get my pants off, then. I assume you brought lube?”

“Never leave home without it,” Bro said as he climbed off the bed and rummaged in his pocket for a few single serving size packets. When he noticed James’ brow quirk he pursed his lips. “Oh come on, you know how goddamn useful this shit is on the job. Sometimes a body just doesn’t wanna fit without a little extra squeak to the nudge.”

“Say no more, I already get the picture,” James said as he sat up and stood to remove his shoes and socks, his trousers and under things. It was different from just having his dick out, far more exposed, more trusting. He decided not to think of it too hard and instead kept the mood going by approaching Bro as he finished taking his own clothing off, reigniting the kiss from earlier. They sought the wall again, bare to each other, one half hard and the other achingly solid, and missed it. The television skidded a few inches in place, forcing them to sidestep, messing up and bashing into the chair beside the desk with an elbow. They eventually cussed and made it back to the bed, Bro twisting to all but fight James down to the surface between the hurried kisses.

It was far from romantic, but James couldn’t really complain about a second of it. Bro knew what he was doing and was thorough with the lube before rolling on a condom, making sure each second of getting him ready was a bit of an adventure. It took minimal hunting to find his prostate, cock twitching like mad with every determined rub and nudge that had him seeing stars. The second he winced, feeling a bit dry, there came the rest of the lube to the rescue without a single word uttered. They worked together like a well oiled machine, Bro only entering once he was sure James wasn’t going to suddenly buck him off.

He rushed a bit, pressing deep prematurely before going still to let them catch their breaths, then slowly pulling back a fraction of an inch. Bit by bit he began pulling out more each time he pulled back, rolling forward and deep once again in a building staccato. Soon enough there was a sharp rhythm, skin slapping skin and James gladly grinding his hips forwards against the bedding to stimulate himself more as Bro hammered into him from behind. The fine bedding was soft between his fingers, crisp sheets on the creaking mattress making a soft scratching sound that was lost to the slap of their bodies connecting. James snaked a hand beneath himself to squeeze his cock, breaths ragged, thoughts cloudy.

There were no sweet nothings in the dimness of the room, no great professions of love or affection, just two men moving towards a similar goal like clockwork. Bro leaned over James’ back and bit his neck low where the collar of his shirt would hide it, then again on the back of his nape, hard like an animal holding its mate solid and steady. He wanted a mark left behind, something to show he’d been there, that he’d claimed this no matter how fleeting the connection would prove to be. James yielded just that much, but kept track through the haze of shimmering light of pre-orgasm of just how many marks he bore so he could leave twice as many on Bro when it was his turn as a matter of principle.

Bro came first, hips spastically jerking in place as he rode it out, before he reached beneath James to stroke his cock almost lovingly as he pulled out and removed the condom, tying it off and chucking it blindly towards where the trash probably was in most rooms. Whatever, he’d figure it out later when they repeated the act.

After another hurried round, James laying into Bro with all he had, they lay together for a time catching their breath, Bro on his back and James resting on his side, the television turned on low casting new multicolored lights around the room like a mistaken stained glass scene straight out of some church’s back pews. Blues and greens were lost in the wash of reds and yellows and orange that made the blonde hair on Bro’s chest stand out more, and caught the curve of James’ legs as they tangled with the longer pale ones beside him. Bro was only a few inches taller than him, but up close the spidery limbs seemed to go on forever, coarse hairs barely disturbing the sweeping view. James played a hand over Bro’s abs, not focusing on the television save for sound, tired mind playing over thoughts of many types.

Could this happen more in the future? It had been a while since he’d had sex this satisfying, but getting involved with someone like this was risky. Stupid. He knew better than to think with his dick, yet here he was wondering how to put into words that he wanted another piece of this slab of beef cake in the near future, same as Bro had earlier said during sex that he wasn’t going to give up a dick that fit him that well without a fight. Then there was John and Dave to consider, with their own thing happening. If they wound up on bad terms, how awkward would it be for their fathers to still be interacting like this? Or to even start happening at all? Would they need to know, or could it be kept a secret? Would th-

“Dirk,” Bro said suddenly, eyes staring up towards the ceiling almost unblinkingly, following thee story he was listening to by the flashes of lights above.

“Come again?”

“My name. It’s Dirk,” he said. “You can still call me Bro obviously. But my name’s Dirk.”

James didn’t know what to do with this information. He thought on it for a moment… then smirked. “...You don’t look like a Dirk at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Nothing, nothing,” he chuckled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”


	4. Epilogue

James was late. It was shameful to admit it, even more frustrating to live it, but he was running late. John had needed running around before being dropped at a friend’s house for a sleepover with Dave and a handful of other boys, then traffic had been bad, then James had spilled coffee on his trousers and needed to turn around to change, and by the time he arrived at the Strider residence to pick Dirk up he was nearly an hour and a half late. In fact, he hopped out of the car soon as he arrived, prepared to whip out his phone and apologize properly, but barely got the screen activated before Dirk was there beside him, having been waiting on the building’s stoop.

“Was startin’ to think you’d ditched me,” Dirk said with a smirk, slapping James on the upper back good naturedly.

“Ditch you? Perish the thought,” James said, taking the slap without jostling in the slightest, a brick wall. “Come on, we’re late enough as it is.”

“You do know there’s not a timer on this, and the movie doesn’t start till later right?” Dirk asked, sliding into the car and buckling his seat. 

“There is indeed a timer on this,” James said. “Our evening is fully planned out, and the first step has to be done at the right time. I’m just glad we don’t need reservations.”

“James. It’s Applebees. I don’t think they even do reservations, and if they do they really don’t need to,” he said with a smirk, glancing out of the corner of his pointed shades before glancing out the window as James got the engine going and pulled the car out of its parking space.

“I’m a man of class, and their happy hour is pleasant and shouldn’t be missed,” James said simply. “I’m also quite partial to a few items on their menu.”

Dirk snorted and continued to stare out the window till they arrived at their destination. The restaurant was quiet and they were glad to be set in a booth a ways away from the other patrons, enjoying their privacy. Dirk stretched his legs beneath the table to prop his feet on the other side of the booth, and James placidly enjoyed his glass of complimentary water before his drink and food would appear. Eventually, he cleared his throat and pulled his phone out to set in the center of the table to draw Dirk’s attention to it.

“So. The job is simple. Nine o’ clock, fellow made a bad name for himself on Craigslist after assaulting a handful of working women. He’ll be waiting at the agreed on place for his date.”

“But we’re the ones fuckin’ him in the end,” Dirk said, going quiet when their drinks arrived. He swirled his straw, blew a few bubbles before drinking deep, then gestured with his glass for James to continue when they were alone again.

“Everything else has already been discussed. The movie should let out by seven, so we’ve plenty of time.”

Dirk nodded and sipped his drink again. Their food arrived, too hot to eat right away, and the conversation fell away as Dirk pulled his own phone out, typing quickly with practiced thumbs as opposed to James’ careful single finger typing. 

**So this is what an anniversary is to you now? How domestic. Applebees, a movie, and work? I don’t mind but I’ve gotta admit I didn’t think I’d be spending my time outside of bed once I started dating someone.**

**YOU SAID THAT YOU DIDN’T MIND WHAT WE DID WHEN I ASKED WHAT YOU WANTED TO DO.**

**I preferred last year where I had to tell Dave that I hurt my wrists at work instead of your handcuffs chafing me while you rode me into the headboard.**

**WHO SAID THAT WASN’T GOING TO HAPPEN THIS YEAR TOO? I JUST ASSUMED THAT DINNER AND A MOVIE WOULD BE A NICE CHANGE OF PACE.**

**And work?**

**SOMETIMES WORK CAN’T WAIT, BUT I CAN MAKE IT UP TO YOU.**

**I’d like to see how you plan on coping with my pillow princess needs, James.**

Dirk glanced up from his phone and quirked a brow as if challenging James. He smiled and reached over to take Dirk’s phone from his gloved hand, effectively ending the conversation in its tracks.

“Dirk, I’ve got tickets next week for us to take a trip to Hawaii. The boys will be thrilled for some privacy, and I’ll be thrilled to make certain you don’t get a single chance to see any of the sights for how hard I plan to fuck you the second we reach the hotel room. It was  _ going  _ to be a surprise,” he said seriously. “But impatience is something I can work with.”

He blinked, listening… and grinned, a smooth quirk of his lips that made James melt at the edges.

“That’s a start. I suppose.”

“Will you do me the honor of spending a tame domestic day together, doing a nice messy job, then spending the night at my place then?”

“Mmmmm… Yeah, sure, you’ve sweet talked me,” Dirk chuckled. “Two years really fucks a guy up. Next think you know I’ll be joinin’ a book club or some shit.”

“If you need some ideas for one to join I’ve got suggestions.”

“James?”

“You’re a bastard.”

“So are you,” James said, toasting him with his glass.

“Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Dirk.”

If James knew then what he knew now, things might have turned out differently. He might not have a new romance in his life, a companion that challenged him as much as he frustrated and attracted him. He might not have a co-worker. He might not have a friend. It had been a strange, twisting road to reach this milestone, but James was sure that there was still plenty of adventure ahead to keep things fresh and exciting for many more years to come.

“Were you gonna do somethin’ cheesy like waitin’ till cleanup to whip out tickets like  _ SURPRISE _ ? Or were you gonna whisper sweet nothin’s in my ear over the bleach fumes and promise me paradise?”

“I was going to give you an envelope once we were heading home, I left the tickets in the glove compartment,” James admitted.

“You are so 1950’s…”

“A classic is a classic for a reason, Dirk.”

“You sure as fuck can say that.”

They might have turned out differently.. But there was no way things could have gone better than this.


End file.
